


Dear My Future Self

by Emerald147



Category: Original Work
Genre: Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Letter, Sad with a Happy Ending, happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 15:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5971741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emerald147/pseuds/Emerald147
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My name's Quinn Hawk. I wanted to give up at one point, let the anger and the saddens dwindle from bonfires to candles that would blow out with my last breath. But, then I found a letter, one I wrote to myself three years ago. I had forgotten; forgotten how determined I used to be and how I had let myself down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear My Future Self

I crawled into my room, only just escaping my parents worried questions. I know I can't tell them, they can't know about the voices or the cuts. They can't know how much of a failure and disappointment I am. It was better that they were ignorant of the situation because, if they knew, the facade and mask I had been crafting down to the last detail would be all for naught. The pain I suffer is punishment enough. I had never tried to take my own life, no, I deserved to be in pain, I don't deserve happiness, or peace.

Suddenly, a piece of paper caught my eye; a letter, flitting about, half inside a draw and half out. I remember writing it, about three years ago. It was to me, or, at least, myself in the future, which is in fact me. I might as well read it, I'd forgotten what I wrote it about...

_Dear My Future Self,_

_I know life is tough at the moment, what with the constant abuse from,well, us. They're shouting to me as I write this letter, all of them, but, I want you to read this and know that I will never give up hope and neither should you. Alice has been getting especially loud lately, I wish other people could hear her, but then again, I don't want them to be hurt like we are._

_I don't want to go on with life. I can't. The constant and merciless battering of my mind is too much for me. I know, however, that you need me to be strong. So I will. I will fight the creatures that have plagued our mind and defend our life with my bare hands if I have to. I will never back down; I will never let go of hope; I will win, for you. I may be one insignificant dot of existence, but, despite the emotional wreck that is us, I will survive. I want to survive. I don't want to be left to die alone with the very reason I hate myself. I do hate myself; but I love who we could be. While they may say we are worthless, hated and unloved by all, who says the voices right? We have to believe that we are stronger than them. I know we are stronger than them._

_Are you going to admit defeat to the views of others? Or are you going to fight for the right to be who you want to be and to be the great person I know you are? I know you're hurting, but so am I. I'm still going to fight though, can't you do the same? It's hard to write this because I really don't think that I am anything of worth but I know you can be something amazing if you choose to be. You can be the person I never could be, the person who could finally fix my mistakes and fight (not physically) the people who want to hurt us and help other people like us, who have no clue how special they can be. I know where I stand in this fight; I only hope that you will stand with me. I know, it's hard. I know what you're feeling, because I'm feeling the same way. I feel that I am useless, a waste of space, a worthless, unimportant human being. But I don't want to be any of those things, so, I fight to choose who I am. I fight to prove everyone, physical body or not, that we are important, we can be important if we want to be._

_Everything is in balance, the good and the bad. To get to the good, we must first fight the through the evils in our life. We must fight to deserve our place in the tiny blue dot we call home, as cheesy as it sounds, it's true! I won't give up. I can't give up. I must continue to fight for our future, for our life. I know how unimportant you think you are. I know how much of a nobody you think you are. I think I'm worthy of death. I've come close to doing it. I still have the scar. I've cut up my arm, writing exactly what the voices tell me too; stupid, ugly, idiot, weak. I'm beginning to think they might be right, I don't want them to win, I want to fight them, fight them so I can have a purpose. I don't want to die, but I don't know if I can keep fighting by myself, even if I deserve to be alone. I hope that you read this, I hope that you listen. I hope that you will continue the fight for me, because I might give up soon. I'm not going to die. But I can't fight anymore. Please don't let yourself down. It was hard for me to write this, what with the voices shouting that everything I'm writing is wrong. You had better listen to what I have to say. Don't let us die, please, I want us to live, I want us to win. Please,don't give up on me. Surely I can trust myself? If I can't get us a perfect life and a perfect world, I'll go through hell, just so you can have a future worthy of what you can be. What you **will** be._

_Quinn Hawk Age 11_

I read the letter about five times, marvelling at the determination of myself three years ago. I looked down at myself, seeing the scars of my past etched onto my skin. I looked down and told myself that there was no hope, that my past self's childish fantasies were nothing more than that, childish fantasies. I knew that it was hopeless, I didn't want to try because I didn't want to get hurt anymore than I already had. Then again, pain is what I deserve, a worthless human being like me doesn't deserve happiness, only pain. So, why bother? Why bother saving what's left of my insignificant life only to have what I can scrape together thrown around like a rag doll by the world? Why should I care? I am the one reason I can't forgive myself, the one reason I am alone. People might ask me why I feel like I do. But, to be honest, I don't know. I don't know how to explain the turmoil in my head that has driven me insane. I can't explain why the voices tell me what they think of me; or rather, they tell me what I _am._ They make sure that I know just how _**worthless**  _and  _ **stupid**  _I am. They make sure I never forget how ** _undeserving_** I am of the oxygen that I breathe. It feels like **_ice_** , cold and unforgiving, **_never_** letting me breathe in the warm summer air; leaving me to  ** _die_** in the cold, cracked and twisted from that might have once been my heart. I don't want to make friends, I'd only hurt them. Why aren't I dead yet!? I understand that my previous friends were only friends with me because they felt pity for my **_stupidity_** and **_uselessness_**. **_Why_** try again? Why let myself be something great when I know I'll never amount to **_anything_** at all?

 My eyes swept around my room, inspecting the items that I had hidden in plain sight. Pins, sewing pins from the machine we kept down stairs. Simple but effective, they had been my tools for pain for the past years. They could never end my life, but they could definitely make my life as painful as it deserves to be. I could feel the silent, angry tears gather in my eyes, making kaleidoscopes from my eyes and threatening to spill over and drip onto the letter. Stupid, stupid, **_Stupid!_** Why am I still alive! **_Why_** aren't I dead yet!? Why? It's what I **_deserve!_** I can't die because all the  ** _pain_** is what I deserve for being so  ** _useless_** and-and-. Sobs racked my body as my tawny hair hung loosely around my shoulders, acting as a curtain for my tears; my dramatic performance of a life relied on my hair to act as the curtain, making sure no one could see me when my mask chipped. What was it that Shakespeare had once said? 'The world is a stage'. Oh how I wish I could close the curtains for the last time, **_destroy_** the stage itself and then set it on fire; letting it slowly ** _burn_** , the wind silently observing, pushing my curtain-hair around my face as my dull sapphire eyes closed, finally letting the tear slip like a secret that one cannot help but reveal. The crystal tear landed on the page, drawing my attention away from the dissipating image, and to the letter that lay on my lap. I was drawn to one line.

 

_Please, don't give up on me._

 

I had given up. How could I have given up on some child's dream, even if it was my own? No, I will fight. I will be the person I want to be. Shut up! I am so worthless, why am I even bothering!? No I-I want to be great and I won't give up. It may seem hopeless, but I know I can't lose, I won't. Of course I'm going to lose! Look at what a mess I am, the long lasting echoes still reverberating in emptiness. Stop it. I can be strong, I can win. I know it won't be easy, but, like pulling a spear from a body, it must be done. The twisting agony of said knife might make me break, as I had before, but I know I won't, I can't, for the sake of a dream, albeit my own. Oh enough already! I'm never going to get anywhere because I'm-I'm so much of **_nothing._** No, no,  ** _NO!_** I have to, I have to, I have to. The voices still shout at me, their patronising cries echoing around the wasteland of my self-esteem, but I can finally find it in me to block out their voices, leaving them with no control over me, and me with more over them. I put down the letter, swept the pins into the bin, wincing as I disrupted my fresh cuts, something I swore to never have again, and looked out the window, the sunrise no longer blocked by the clouds of my depression. It will take time. It won't be easy, but...I can finally see a new future. I can finally see happiness.


End file.
